Until That Day
by Annalore
Summary: After Wrestlemania 29, John wonders exactly what he did to upset Punk. In the "Long Way Down" universe. Punk/Cena, slash.


Title: Long Way Down: Until That Day

Rating: T

Fandom: Wrestling, WWE

Pairing: CM Punk/John Cena

Summary: After Wrestlemania 29, John wonders exactly what he did to upset Punk. In the "Long Way Down" universe. Punk/Cena, slash.

* * *

A hundred dollars.

Not too long ago, you would have done almost anything for that amount of cash. There's a part of you, a shamefully large part, that wants to grab the bill that lies in front of you on the table. Grab it and hide it, and make sure nobody can ever take it from you.

"For your thoughts," he says, dropping himself into the seat across from you.

You snort. He's either trying to compliment you by saying they're worth that much, or belittle you by suggesting that you can be bought. It's not worth thinking about, you decide. This is John; he probably hasn't given it that much thought.

"_My_ thoughts?" you ask demurely, fingers splayed over your heart, as though he could possibly have been talking about something else.

He shakes his head wearily. "I've given up trying to figure you out, at least for tonight, so could you please just give me a break and tell me what's up?"

You drop the act and stare at the money, then back at him. "You really don't know what's bothering me?"

There's a pause as he thinks, sifts through events earlier in the day, remembers –

– _standing in the hallway, talking in near whispers before you start your pre-match rituals. You're in the middle of putting on your headphones when he says it, so it's easy to pretend you don't hear. Maybe you don't hear, but you're pretty good at reading lips. You turn your back on him anyway, as if he didn't say anything. You can barely hear your music over the rush of blood in your ears as you jog down the corridor away from him, and_ –

– everything that happened. "No," he says finally, incredibly.

You cross your arms and glare at him, waiting for his memory to kick into gear.

"We've discussed it before," he says. You continue to glare. You're sure he remembers your end of the 'discussion.' "You didn't get so weird about it then," he adds defensively, his voice sounding achingly vulnerable.

Like always, it gets you like a knife to the heart. You can't stand to see him hurting, so you relent, like you almost did when you saw him after your match –

– _leaning against a wall, just behind the curtain. His eyes light up when he sees you, and the desire to go to him is almost stronger than the churning in your stomach that returned the second you bailed out of the ring. In the end, you beg off, turn towards the trainer that's badgering you about your leg. You mouth the word "later" to him_ –

– and left without speaking a word.

"It was simpler then," you offer.

"Then tell me what's different now," he insists, his voice hitching.

You're angry at yourself for being so weak, for creating this situation. For falling in love, for losing control. For changing.

"A lot of things, John." You sigh as you struggle to find the right words, when the one you really want to say, the answer you always gave before, isn't coming. "Remember last year? After Wrestlemania?" He nods. "You put your trust in me, and I think that's when I first really started to fall for you."

"I never knew that," he says softly, a distant look in his eyes. You can tell he's back there, remembering his first time and how he let it be with you. Adding in this new information.

"There was a time I thought I'd never get that back. And I know that's mostly my fault, but I can't go there again, John, not when things have finally gotten good between us. I need you too much, I can't lose you over this."

He exhales slowly. "You don't have to. I can still handle a 'no', Phil," he says, trying for a smile, though you can tell it hurts him. "You didn't have to go and avoid me for the whole rest of the night. It's not like I planned it that way, it just kind of happened."

It shouldn't surprise you that there are still some things about you that he doesn't understand, not when you barely understand yourself sometimes. But he's the one who keeps the sand shifting beneath your feet, he's the one that changes you.

"That's your problem right there, John," you say, with an anger that surprises you. "You want to marry me? Go buy me a fucking ring." You pick up his stupid, ostentatious hundred dollar bill. "It would get you a hell of a lot farther than this."

You stand up and limp –

– _over to the gorilla position against medical advice. It's stupid and your emotions are still a mess, but you just can't help yourself, because you know what this means to him._

_He emerges from the curtain flushed with victory, the title slung over his shoulder. He can't be expecting to see you, but his eyes pick you out immediately. He moves away from the Rock and towards you and you nearly stumble into his arms as your knee gives out._

_One of the production guys snaps a picture of you hanging off John's arm, and you lean in and kiss him, there in front of everyone. Someone claps and Rocky gives you a sidelong glare of disgust. John whispers "I love you" into the curve of your neck._

_It's just too picture perfect, and you imagine that it could be like this if you'd just say yes. That if he asked right now, you would say yes; but you can't do that, not in front of all these people, so you pull away, mumble an excuse as you walk_ –

– away, into the bedroom, taking his money with you.

Not too long ago, you would have said you didn't believe in marriage. Part of you still doesn't, but there's a larger part of you that just can't imagine life without John.

As you curl up on the bed, you concede that maybe you were wrong. You must have been wrong, because why else would it have made you happy when he blurted out "marry me" in the middle of Wrestlemania? Why else would words on a piece of paper somehow mean more than ink on your skin? If marriage was such an antiquated notion, why would you so desperately want to be John's husband?

As you're trying to sort through all these things, he walks into the room and kneels beside the bed. Under the low light from the highway outside, he studies you silently, his eyes unreadable.

"I don't need a ring," you say before the moment stretches out too long.

"Does that mean you're saying yes?" he asks in a hushed tone, as if it's just something he dreamed and uttering those words will make it all go away.

You nod, suddenly unable to speak. You hold out a hand and he takes it, kisses your knuckles, presses the back of your hand to his cheek. There are tears in his eyes, and you can't say for certain that you aren't crying too.

You swear you hear him mumble something about love and happiness, but you're still too overwhelmed to get your voice to work. You just nod at him again, speechlessly, and hope you're not agreeing to something else you've spent your whole life railing against.

Later, he finds the hundred dollar bill plastered to the sweaty skin of your back.

"Where do you want me to put this?" he asks with a laugh, his voice vibrating through your body as you lie on top of him.

"Shove it up your ass," you suggest politely.

"Okay, but you'll have a hard time reaching it when you go to buy your coffee in the morning," he answers gamely.

You lift your head off his chest to look him in the eye. "You can keep it. My thoughts– they're yours, John. Free of charge."

He touches your temple. "If only they weren't so hard to read," he says, pulling your head down until your eyes are only inches apart, as if that would help.

You give him a quick peck on the lips before settling yourself back against his chest. "But you get a lifetime to learn how," you say, trying the notion on. It's not as terrifying as it was a few hours ago. Give it a few days and you might just learn to like it, even if John is whispering something about gold and diamonds in your ear as you drift off to sleep.


End file.
